Widow's Bite
by Ariyah
Summary: You'd be a fool to cross Natasha Romanoff at the best of times. But when she's just off a mission and has got a snack and bed on her mind, you really should try not to cross her. One-shot. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer:** Do you see this ugly mug having a cameo in every Marvel movie? Didn't think so.

( **Author's Note:** Very, very, _very_ loosely based on real events. ;-) )

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It was one o'clock in the morning and Natasha was tired. "Exhausted" would have been too strong a word. So would "hungry" – "peckish" was more like it. Whatever degree of either feeling, a week of taking down a faction of the Maggia with only Clint for backup had got her looking forward to fulfilling both needs at home and on her own time. No more sketchy rendezvouses to make, no more pre-dawn recons to wake up for, and no more Maggia sting operation to deal with. At least, until she received another such assignment.

She noted that her neighbour's girlfriend had parked in her spot again. Whatever. She pulled into another stall, ignoring the subconscious warnings about the chewing-out she'd be sure to receive from the night-shift security guard on the ground floor. She'd deal with it when it happened.

As she trundled her duffle bag out ahead of her, Natasha debated between eating a granola bar or a fruit. By the time she unlocked the door to the condo building, she had decided that she'd rather have that apple in her fridge before it went bad. She entered the elevator, jabbed at the button for the third floor, and readied the key to her condo.

A strange scent met her the moment she walked in. Oh no, she was _not_ in the mood for this. Snack and bed were on her mind and she was _not_ going to let anything interfere, so she dumped her duffel bag by the door and flicked on the kitchen light. Natasha yanked open the refrigerator door and withdrew the last apple. The scent – some nasty brand of body spray – grew stronger and was accompanied by soft footfalls. Surprise was key here. On her side of things, anyway, whatever the intruder's intentions. She set the apple on the counter, then opened a lower cupboard and felt around for the cutting board, listening for the tell-tale breath.

It came a moment later and she swung the cutting board behind and up to meet her assailant's strike. He exclaimed in surprise and a paperweight – the one from her nightstand – crashed to the floor. Natasha set down the cutting board and spun around, noting his all-black getup and ski mask. His eyes grew wide for a moment, then he turned to run for the door.

Natasha would have let him go, but it was then that she espied his backpack, which she snagged and used to swing him about so he was back in the kitchen and she was again in front of the fridge. She wanted cheese anyway. He slipped from her grasp and wound up for a punch. She opened the fridge door into his fist while she produced a block of marble cheddar. He back-stepped and poised for a kick. Natasha whipped out a drawer to block him. His shin connected, rattling the contents of the drawer and eliciting a curse from him. She plucked out the paring knife before closing the drawer again. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the intruder's eyes betrayed his fear, even – or perhaps especially – when Natasha halved the apple in a swift stroke.

His movements became desperate and wild, but she absently occupied him with a few side-kicks of her own while she cut the apple into eight sections. He tried to kick high, but she spun away and then used her own leg to pin his to the counter. She cut three slices of cheese before he broke free. Fine. She set down the knife and faced him. He advanced with a punch. In one fluid motion, she deflected it, kneed him in the stomach, and rammed his head against the counter. He dropped and she cut one more slice of cheese in peace.

Natasha dumped the backpack's contents on the table and rifled through them while she munched. Tablet, multiple spare wallets, jewellery – all the obvious, unimportant stuff. Forgetting that her mouth was full, she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled.

"Hello?" said the very sleepy voice on the other end.

"Quartermain. I'm calling in that favour."

"Romanoff? I thought you were –"

"You'll find a burglar passed out in my kitchen. Take him to the police station for me?"

"What the – right now? What time is it?"

"Door's unlocked, spare key's under the microwave, lock the door on your way out. Thanks. Oh, and you might want to bring a gas mask. Dude bathes in Axe body spray."

Natasha hung up and turned off the phone. She didn't bother to clean up or even switch off the kitchen light. She'd had her snack and she was heading to bed.

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